Letters I'll Never Send

They are killing all of them. And the world just watches.

When I think of you my body aches for your touch.

The ache is real

In an effort to spend time together after the night of fighting and intense talks, we start driving out to Dinosaur Ridge for a quick hike. That plan is quickly spoiled by a flat tire off of the C470 ramp.
Glass shrapnel that littered the road and I was forced to travel across on my earlier trip to Target had infiltrated the tire as it deflates on us together now.
My partner does the work to change out the spare, but Firestone delivers the bad news that the insides are shredded and we have to replace the tire as it can no longer be patched. He pays his dues without complaint .It all feels very allegorical, or symbolic, something of that ilk.

You live your life, free from what you’ve done
I am trapped in the summer of 2014
You’ve moved on and are happy now
I am broken
You don’t care about what you did to me
It consumes my every waking thought
I am so lost and broken inside
I was expendable to you
You broke my trust
My heart
And took something from me that was never yours
I will live in fear of every man I meet from now on until I die
Knowing what every man is capable of
You laugh and live your life
I just want mine back

My partner leaves in the aftermath of our worst fight ever to chop off his long locks. When he returns its in tearfuls with apologies and shame in tow. His now shorn head isn’t a bad look but something in his brief time away allows him reflect and form earnest words for change and reconciliation. He vows to seek counciling, and to stop taking a hair loss therapy drug he’s been taking for years known to cause anxiety.
I suspect the suicide of his co worker and russian tensions also don’t help, so I do my best to put my best foot forward for my daughter’s benefit and hopefully my own, but I also tell him he doesn’t get to play martyr for the sake of duty without desire.

After my partner returns from talking ti his mom on the phone he relays that it’s tough but we can work through it, and goes on to iterate how his aunt recently went through something similar when her husband gained weight in his grief over the Russian War and she kicks him out of the house. He goes on to say he’s been at fault but I let myself go. Let myself go? I’m not obese or sedentary by any means. I shatter the coffee pot I had just been preparing for a night cap.
He wants to work on it after that? It feels like having your heart pissed on. I say a lot of angry things, I call him vain and tell him I hope he goes bald, he says he’s going to shave tomorrow anyway.
I wasn’t ignorant of the signs, even at the rammstein show as he pushes me behind him and runs down other women collected at the front of the stage in his annoying.
He wants to work on it but he’s not attracted to me. What admirable honesty, I tell him if he doesn’t like me like this his feelings likely wouldn’t even return if I lost the weight.

He’s been itching for travel since he got his passport, a vacation to Mexico would not be enough but if he drives me off now maybe he can get to it a bit sooner. Go to finland like he’s been pining for. He has this dream of rescuing a guy friend of his over in Russia at the Finish boarder. Maybe he’s just trying to manifest thar.
I never meant to hurt you this way he says. I scream .
How disappointing, butnot entirely unexpected. If we sell the townhouse. I could still give my kid and the kitties a very comfortable life in my hometown. I would have no issue finding work, I wouldn’t be trapped at home without a car, or in a relationship where if can’t meet a certain aesthetician standard I’m considered unattractive. By the way even in the skin that I’m in now, I still get complimented often by others who enjoy how I look.

My husband’s not attracted to me. There’s a fight. I break a few dishes in the shattering of the image of the marriage I had hoped to find. He tries to damage control with ” I don’t think you’re the most beautiful woman out there but I think you’re beautiful.” Somehow his phrasing makes it worse.
I want to punch him in the fuck8ng face but I settle for angrily scribbling in my notebook.
We’re supposed to go to Mexico in two months and ive spent weeks preparing all the goods for the trip and organizing the upcoming holiday but I feel like this nonchalant cruelty is his way of fulfilling some sort of desire of his to forge ahead on some different path.
We fucked last night, he says that was fun. He says love and attraction don’t need to go hand in hand in a guy’s mind, in less eloquent words.
I feel the nerves in my face twitching at the emotional damage.
He says I’m a great mom, but still he makes no effort to comfort me and what little he tries to do to make me feel better feels more like a back hand. Hey at least he stayed true to his inner dialogue opinions right?

Earlier I was upset because he used his fiscal earnings status as a way to try to evade helping me send off his families holiday goods. I bring up how he apathetically often jokes about getting killed off to not have to deal with things in his life and I’m honest in how I feel such dialogue diminishes what good there is, I give an equal analogy of if I had said I hope childbirth kills me so I don’t have to deal with the rest back when I had our daughter. He does this little cringe scoff as if somehow it wields different meaning when I say it.

He says he didn’t want to hurt me like this, but at no point in the evening does he attempt to hug or provide affection of any sort.

I’m sad.

I’ve been spending so much time trying to get the details right on my paintings to try to launch some sort of career through art for myself, if I could have just shut my mouth and ignored it I could have at least carried on until I got there. Now I don’t know.
I probably deserve it, whatever it is, but I had hoped that I was worthy of more.

The world will never be the same, we are dead now and sometimes it seems like hell is our eternal destiny because we denied what God brought together. You wanted me to not talk to you anymore, so here we are. All I wanted was for you to find love but when you found it and I congratulated you told me to stop. So I did. The thing I wanted to tell you but couldn’t was that there is a demon attached to you and I. I had a dream of a scene and the demon was there, then you posted the same scene on Instagram a few years later. I believe it could be something to do with your ancestor being a 33rd degree freemason. Maybe this is all just my religious programming or whatever but I know there is more to all of this than coincidence. This won’t make me feel better, time to get to work.

But I think I’m recovered, for the most part. I’m not im Agony anyway so I’ll take it.
I’ve been going back through some of Mike Flanagans older work with the husband after the great success with Fall of the House of Usher. This weekend was all about that Haunting up at Hill house, which he found slow at first but it’s starting connect. We ended the night with an episode I knew was going to have me in tears. Even though I’ve seen it before, I was still weeping for more than half of the episode it felt like. The conversations around mental health, paired with the scripted tragedies gnaw at me, Nells plight is relatable and even to a lesser degree the night terror sleep paralysis. My husband teases me and exasperated “still!?” When even after the episode is done I still have rivers running.
I tell him to shut the fuck up, he doesn’t get to tell me how long I can cry for.
It’s taken in good humor, he tries to make me laugh to replace the tears by reminding me about earlier in the day when I was talking shit to him and accidently ate the full bit of Wasabi that came with my sushi and the dramatic reaction that follows.
It works I’m laughing . I chase my sorrow with a shot of honey whiskey.

“Undress for me…” You recline on the black satin sheets, watching me as I eagerly comply. “Slowly,” you growl.

I lean down and bend over to leisurely unzip my red leather boots, playfully tossing them toward you while revealing my red thigh high fishnets.

“Good girl,” you say with a half smile. “Now the dress.”

I start at the top of my white sundress, teasing you with bare shoulders. As I begin to pull down the dress, you see a bright red bustier. I lean forward to give you a better view of the cleavage almost spilling out of the top. Then I slowly push my dress past my hips and let it fall to the floor.

You gaze at my garter belt and then move your attention to my lacy red panties. You can see that the gusset of the panties has been removed.

I smile at you as I await your next command.

“Turn around.”

I work my hands over my body as I turn away from you, affording you a nice view of my backside. Upon closer inspection, you can see that my panties have a thong made of large white pearls.

“Come to me,” you urge.

I turn around gracefully and find a place next to you on the bed. As I climb past you, you slap my ass hard. I let out a sound that is half surprise and half ecstasy.

“Good girl,” you intone, your voice thick with pleasure. You sit up in the bed and push my head between your legs.

Knowing exactly what you want, I start teasing you by licking the head of your eager cock like an ice cream cone. Firmly and slowly tracing swirls with my tongue. You moan, wanting more. All at once I stop, and you look at me quizzically. I smirk at you and move my head back between your legs. I lick gingerly and I gently suck until I can hear the sounds of your frustration.

I turn away from you and position myself on all fours. I can practically feel your wicked grin. I know what’s coming and I can’t wait for it.

You grab my hips and mercilessly start fucking my ass. I scream from the pain. The string of pearls massages your cock faster and faster as you take me.

“Oh God,” I moan.

“You love it, you filthy whore.”

“I do. I love it…” I pant.

You close your eyes and I can feel you cum deep inside me. “Good girl,” you say as you pull me to your chest and stroke my hair. I will sleep well tonight.